


On the Make

by ficbear



Series: Gunsel [11]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Doomed Relationship, Exhibitionism, Face Slapping, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Homme Fatale, Kissing, Loud Sex, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Consensual Violence, Obsession, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficbear/pseuds/ficbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's close enough now that I can smell the perfume on him every time I take a breath, sweet and heavy and cheap enough that I'm embarrassed it works on me. But it does. It really does. His shirt's still half-unbuttoned, and when it falls open a bit further as he moves, my eyes linger long enough on his bare skin that I've got no chance of pretending I'm not interested. But who am I kidding? He knew he'd got me the minute I let him into the car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Make

I used to hate jobs like this. All kinds of thoughts used to go through my head. What if something goes wrong? What if they don't buy my spiel? What if someone feels like shooting the messenger? These days, though, I've done enough of these jobs to know how it's going to play out before I even set foot in the place. Sure, I'm not particularly threatening in my own right, but people know who I am now, and even if they think they could take me down, they don't risk it. It's like being one of those medieval heralds, I reckon – no-one's going to pay me any mind on my own, but as soon as they get a look at whose colours I'm wearing, all of a sudden they're listening. So I'll go in there, deliver my message, maybe string it out a bit if I feel like watching them squirm, and then head back to the boss, just like every other time.

As soon as I walk through the front door, the guy behind the counter looks at me like he's just spotted a snake in his back garden. That's a guilty conscience if ever I saw one.

"I'm here to see Taylor," I say, not bothering to wait for an answer as I walk by.

"Hang on," the guy says, picking up the telephone, "I'll see if he's available."

"Oh, don't bother, it'll spoil the surprise." I keep on walking, straight through to the back. I can hear voices coming from the office, one louder and lighter than the other, and as I approach the door that light voice erupts into a giggle that's about as authentic as the gilt this place is dripping in. When I open the door and walk right into the office, the laughter stops dead as if someone turned off a tap. Taylor isn't behind his desk, and he evidently isn't busy with work. He's on the sofa, leaning over the owner of that giggle, with one arm around the boy's waist and one hand under his shirt. Can't say I blame him, either. The boy's cute, alright, and he looks like he belongs in a nightclub, not an office. His hair is dyed bright coppery-red like a new penny, and his glitzy shirt is unbuttoned and hanging open, showing off exactly how smooth and pale he is underneath all the silk and chiffon. He looks like he barely sees daylight, like the kind of boy who lives on cocktails and cigarettes. Yeah, I can't blame Taylor at all, except that if he's the one buying those cocktails, he'd better not be dipping into the kitty to pay for them.

"You can't just walk in here," Taylor says, glancing down at the boy and then back up at me. I guess having a pretty boy watching does wonders for a guy's confidence, because he gets to his feet and advances on me, full of bluster. "I don't care who you are, nobody barges into my office like that."

"Now, don't get excited, Mr Taylor," I say, nice and even, standing my ground. "I'm just delivering a message from head office."

"Message? What message?" he says, but he can't keep his poker face, not for one second. He knows exactly what I'm here for. I can see the fear in his eyes.

"Your numbers are down. Maybe you thought the drop was small enough the boss wouldn't notice, or maybe you thought he wouldn't mind if you skimmed a bit of cream off the top before you passed the takings on. Either way, you'd be wrong." I smile up at Taylor. This guy might be half a foot taller than me, but he couldn't intimidate his way out of a paper bag. "Next quarter's numbers had better be back up to the usual level, Mr Taylor. You know what'll happen if they're not."

He stands there for a moment, furious but silent, and I'm just starting to think that the message has sunk in when the boy stands up and gives Taylor an arch stare. "Are you going to let him talk to you like that?"

"Nicky, don't start," Taylor says, but it sounds more like a plea than an order.

"Hah!" Nicky folds his arms and curls his lips into a thin smirk, the kind that makes me want to smack it right off his pretty face. "Some tough-guy you turn out to be."

The boy's taunts work like oil on a fire. Taylor stands up a bit taller, gives me what I'm guessing is his best attempt at a glare, and tries again. "You think you can just waltz in here and threaten me, do you?"

"I'm not threatening you." I keep the smile on my face as I stare him down. "I'm giving you a polite warning. The numbers go up, or you get another visit. And next time it won't be _me_ who comes to see you."

I have to stifle a laugh, because for all his attempts at bravado, the guy's face blanches right away. I guess I don't even have to say outright who'll be coming down here next time.

"Well–" Taylor starts to say, and I can tell by the quiver in his voice that I've gotten through to him, but that boy of his jumps in with another bucketful of scorn before the guy can finish backing down.

"Pathetic," Nicky sneers. "Oh, _sure_ , you're a big spender, but when it comes down to it you might as well be–"

And that's all I can take of this boy and his lip. " _You_ , sit down and shut up," I say, shoving him back down onto the sofa. "And _you_ , Mr Taylor, you'd better get your house in order. One more chance, remember. Don't waste it."

I leave him standing there, white-faced and wilting under the contempt in that boy's stare. If he's got any sense he'll listen to the warning, but if he's like the others I've given this speech to, it's pretty much fifty-fifty whether he'll do the smart thing. Maybe less, since he's got that boy Nicky pulling his strings. As I walk back to the car, I can't help wondering why Taylor let himself get tangled up with someone like that in the first place. I mean, you'd have to be an idiot not to see it coming – that kind of boy's going to take you for everything he can get and then some. But I don't get a chance to wonder about it for long, because before I've even made it across the road Nicky comes running up behind me and slips his arm through mine like we're old friends.

"What do you want?" I say, shaking off his grip, but it's not really a question. The look on his face, the mixture of curiosity and greed sparkling in his eyes, I'd recognise that anywhere. It's the kind of look I've thrown around often enough myself.

"Well, you interrupted my plans for the afternoon, and the mood in there's _ruined_ now." He looks up at me, all sad eyes and pouting lips. "The least you can do is give me a lift home."

And I thought _I_ was shameless. "You've given up on Taylor, have you?"

"Not entirely," he says, and that pout breaks into a mischievous smile. "Well, not _yet_ , anyway. Depends whether he's going to do what you told him to."

"Whether he's going to keep throwing my boss's money at you, is that it?"

He doesn't answer. He just keeps looking up at me with that same little smirk on his lips. Yeah, this boy's going to be milking his friend back there right up until the point that Taylor cuts him off. Or gets himself cut off. And even then, I wouldn't be surprised if whoever the boss sends down to replace him ends up with a new best friend too, one with red hair, a sharp tongue and a taste for other people's money.

"You should find yourself a different meal ticket," I say, and when he rolls his eyes at me, I grab hold of his shoulder and give him a shake like I'm trying to wake him up. "Or Taylor won't be the only one getting an unwelcome visitor."

That gets his attention, only not quite the way I wanted. "Oh, that sounds exciting," he says, with a soft laugh. "Does everyone from head office play as rough as you do?"

Now it's my turn not to answer, because I know anything I say is just going to encourage him, the same way it'd have encouraged _me_ back when I was a free agent. And if he thinks this is playing rough, then he's in for a rude awakening.

"Well, are you going to give me a lift, or what?" He leans against the side of the car, keeping his eyes on mine, and brings one hand up to toy with the buckle of his belt. "I haven't got all day."

I look at him, at those bright, hungry eyes and that rosy mouth, and I'm shaking my head inside as I open the door and tell him to get in. I might be smarter than Taylor, but not by much.

"Nice car," Nicky says, settling back into the passenger seat like a cat getting comfortable in front of a fire.

"Yeah, well, don't get your hopes up, it's not mine."

"Pity," he says, but it doesn't seem to put him off too much. He keeps throwing those hungry glances my way, and once I've started the car he shifts in his seat, edging closer to me, and rests one hand on my thigh. So I guess a full wallet isn't the only thing that gets him interested after all. He's close enough now that I can smell the perfume on him every time I take a breath, sweet and heavy and cheap enough that I'm embarrassed it works on me. But it does. It really does. His shirt's still half-unbuttoned, and when it falls open a bit further as he moves, my eyes linger long enough on his bare skin that I've got no chance of pretending I'm not interested. But who am I kidding? He knew he'd got me the minute I let him into the car. So I give in, and when we get to the main road I throw one of those hot glances right back at him. "Where to, then?"

"Oh, I don't mind where you take me, anywhere," he says, smiling at me like it's a stupid question.

"Cute," I say, and he just gives me that giggle again. "You wanted taking home, didn't you?"

He looks away coyly. "I don't know, my housemates don't like it when I bring strange men home…"

"But you keep on doing it anyway, right?"

"I know, I'm _terrible_ , aren't I?" He smiles and gives me the address, and now I feel an even bigger fool than before, because it's close enough he could have easily walked.

It takes a few minutes to get there, and Nicky spends each second of the journey pressed up close against my side, resting his hand on my leg, stroking his thumb back and forth over the muscle of my thigh. It's a relief when I finally pull up in front of the little terraced house, because I don't know how much longer I could have kept my concentration. He gets out of the car, and I stay behind the wheel for a moment, trying to quieten down the nagging voice saying that this is a bad idea, that I should just warn him off hanging around Taylor again and go home, that whether this boy gets himself into trouble or not is none of my business. And then he leans over and says "Come on, then," and that silk shirt falls open a little more as he moves, and I'm on my feet following him down the garden path before I know what I'm doing.

Those housemates he mentioned are in the living room when Nicky brings me through, and it looks like he wasn't kidding about them disapproving of his habits. They roll their eyes at him as we go by, and when _I_ glance at them they look away like the wallpaper's suddenly gotten really interesting. I'm not sure if it's just distaste or if I look shifty enough that they don't even want to make eye contact with me, but either way it gives Nicky the giggles, and he's still smirking when we get to his room.

"Don't mind them," he says, closing the door behind us. "They're always on at me to bring someone _nice_ home for a change."

"Then they're fighting a losing battle," I laugh, "because you don't go for nice, do you?"

He puts his hands on his hips and gives me a petulant stare. "About as much as you do."

I grab hold of his waist and pull him toward me, and the minute I touch him he's all over me, wrapping his arms around my neck and kissing me like he hasn't had any action for weeks. When I grab hold of his ass with both hands and give it a squeeze, he gives a muffled little purr against my lips, the kind that makes me want to keep grinding against him til he's begging for it. That heavy perfume fills my head, and I can taste the sourness of it on his skin when I move my lips down to his throat. He must bathe in the stuff. It does the job, though, because I'm hard and aching to fuck him already, and he's barely touched me at all. Which is a situation that needs rectifying, so I take hold of his wrist and move his hand down to my groin, and when his palm rubs against the ridge of my cock, that light purr of his turns into a moan.

"No, you don't go for nice," I say, as he unbuttons my jacket and gets to work on my fly, "and you don't go for taking things slow, either, do you?"

He grinds against my leg, as hard as I am and then some, and when I grab a fistful of his hair he looks up at me with eyes dark and hazy like he's drunk on the feeling. "I go for whatever'll get you to shut up and fuck me."

I pull him into another kiss, and he sucks and licks at my tongue like it's the best thing he's ever tasted. Then he wraps one hand around my cock, strokes me with those smooth fingers, and all I can think about is fucking that pretty mouth until he's choking around me. "You want to be fucked that badly?" I yank on that soft red hair again, pulling his head back hard enough to get another faint moan welling up in his throat. "Then you can get on your knees and suck it, first."

He does as he's told the minute I let go of his hair, only stopping to throw off his shirt, and he's got his lips around my cock before I've even taken off my jacket. His tongue is so hot, his mouth is so soft and wet, and he sucks so hungrily at me that it takes all my self-control not to just shove him down and start fucking his throat in earnest. I settle for a hand on the back of his head, guiding him up and down at the pace I want. He keeps one hand wrapped around the base of my shaft, and I can hear him fumbling his belt and trousers undone with the other. I can just see the motion of his hand, light and fast, stroking his own cock as he sucks me, and that's too much, I've got to have him now, to hell with making a point of slowing him down.

"Alright," I say, pulling him up off me. "Get the rest of those clothes off, I want a piece of that ass."

"About time," he laughs, stripping off quickly, kicking his shoes aside and throwing his clothes on top of them. He's naked by the time I've taken off my shirt and tie, and as he bends over to open the bedside drawer, I can't resist coming up behind him, grinding against the curve of his ass.

"Here," he says, throwing a smile at me as he hands me the lube. "I don't need much warming up."

"I'll bet you don't," I laugh, because I've delivered that line myself plenty of times, and plenty of times I've regretted it afterwards. So I give him a couple of fingers first, nice and slow, and it's only when he's pushing back and taking them up to the knuckle, when he's swallowing little moans and whining deep in his throat like I'm driving him mad, that I finally give him what he wants. He's so hot inside, so soft and smooth and tight around me, I feel like I could fuck him all day and not get tired. And he'd probably go for that, too, given how much he seems to be enjoying himself. He's still stroking himself as I fuck him, and every time I thrust forward he moans loud enough that they can probably hear it next-door, never mind downstairs.

"You don't care who hears, do you?" I say, grabbing hold of his hair and upping my pace. He cries out again, and if anything he's louder this time.

"Don't care at all," he groans, working his hand faster over his own cock, and pushing back onto mine like he can't get enough. "I don't care if the whole street hears…"

"Is that right?" This is going to earn me some dirty looks from those housemates when I leave, but if I'm right, it'll be worth it. So I grab his arms and haul him across to the door, shoving him up against it with his face pressed to the wood. He braces himself against the door with one arm, and slides his other hand back down to his cock, stroking himself hard and fast as I start giving it to him again. And now he just gets louder. Those throaty little groans, the sound of my hips slapping against his ass, and the way that rickety old door rattles in its frame every time I slam into him, it's all loud enough that I might as well be nailing him on the kitchen table. "Well, now everyone can hear how much you love it, can't they?"

Nicky moans helplessly, and I can feel him tensing around me, squirming and pushing back greedily onto my cock. It's not going to take long, and if I'm not careful he's going to drag me right along with him. I slow down, grinding into him in long, deep strokes, and I give his hair another hard yank. "They can hear exactly how much you like a good, hard fucking, can't they?"

"Everyone knows what a–" He cuts himself off with another moan, desperate and ragged, and I can see his nails digging into the paintwork.

"What a slut you are," I finish his sentence for him, and judging by the way he groans and starts working his hand faster, I've hit the right note, so I step my pace up again and keep going. "They can hear how hungry you are for it, can't they? How much you love taking it nice and deep, how much that tight little ass needs filling up with hard cock, as much as you can get, isn't that right?"

I give him all the nasty lines I've had thrown at me, and in return I get the sweetest, wildest cries and moans you can imagine, loud and desperate and frantic as he starts to come. I want to hold off, I want to spread him out on that cheap bed and fuck him on his back, I want to watch his face while I give it to him, but I've got no chance. As soon as he starts to tense and shake, I go toppling right over the edge along with him. All I can do is go with it. I pin him there with one hand in his hair and one on his waist, fucking him fast and rough, hard enough that the door sounds like it's going to break off its hinges, until I've wrung every bit of pleasure from his body, until we're both leaning there breathless and weak.

"The bathroom's on the right," he says, as he slips out from underneath me. When I look back at him, he's stretching like a cat after a long nap, and as he meets my eyes he gives me a measured smile that says very clearly, _you're good, but_ _don't outstay your welcome_. So I dress and get cleaned up, but when I head back into the bedroom to pick up my jacket, I decide to give him another rendition of the warning I tried before, just in case he's more amenable to advice when he's not thinking about getting fucked.

"Listen," I say, as I button my jacket, "I meant what I said before,"

He's in front of the mirror, brushing his hair, and he looks up at me in the reflection with a little smirk. "Which bit? You said a lot of things."

"About Taylor." I come up to stand behind him, and I put my hands lightly on his shoulders. I don't know why, because it wouldn't surprise me if he shrugged them right off. "If he keeps taking what isn't his and passing it along to you, you're both going to end up paying for it."

He puts the brush down, and shrugs off my grip, just like I expected. "Alright, fine," he says, with a thin smile. "I'll stay away from him."

But we both know he won't, and as I drive back home I keep turning the problem over and over in my mind, trying to figure out a way this can end without Nicky getting a fifty percent share of what Taylor's got coming to him. Maybe I'm overthinking it, I don't know. Maybe I'd be better off forgetting about him altogether. But the boss likes things clean and discreet, and really I'm just trying to make things go smoothly for the old man, that's all. There's nothing more to it than that.

 

* * *

 

When I explained the situation to the boss, he just listened without saying a word. It got me flustered, all that silence. Toward the end I was rambling badly enough that I can't have been making much sense at all, so really I don't even know why he agreed to this. I can't have made a very good case, not with my head so jumbled up, not with my tongue running away with me the way it always does when I'm under pressure. Maybe he just found my nerves amusing. But in any case, he gave me what I wanted, and now I've got until next quarter's figures go in to persuade Nicky to lay off. If he's still hanging around and filling his pockets with those skimmed profits after that, then it's out of my hands. So I suppose he's on the same deadline now as Taylor. I suppose I am, too.

And you know, the really annoying thing is that at first I thought Nicky had actually listened to me. After the last time I came down here, a whole week went by without him making an appearance. But that must have been just a holiday, because now the grapevine says Taylor's gone back to spending every afternoon shut away in his office with a sour-tempered redhead, and that redhead seems to show up every day in a slightly more expensive getup than the last. I guess I'm not as persuasive as I hoped. So here I am, parked across the road from the entrance just before closing time, waiting for Nicky to come out. Waiting for my second chance to talk some sense into him.

It's ten past by the time he finally walks through the doors, and I'm starting to get annoyed at the wait – I mean, what is he doing in there, helping to lock up? – but as soon as I lay eyes on him that irritation simmers back down again into simple desire. He's wrapped up in a long coat with a fur collar, the kind that costs about twice as much as a plain one and keeps you half as warm. The fur is a few shades darker than his hair, dark enough that he looks paler than ever by contrast. He looks almost ill, like he hasn't slept all night, and somehow that just makes me want him more. I want to be the one keeping him all night, the one wearing him out and putting shadows under those pretty eyes. And yeah, it's stupid, but I want to be the one keeping him, full-stop.

"This is a surprise," he says frostily, as I walk toward him. "I thought you said the next time Mr Taylor got a visit from head office, it'd be someone bigger and meaner than you." Then his eyes warm a little, and he gives me another one of those mischievous smiles. "I'd say I'm disappointed, but that wouldn't be entirely true."

"I'm flattered." I put my hand on the small of his back, just lightly, just to test the waters. "But I'm not here to see Taylor. I'm here to see you."

He looks up at me, leaving my hand where it is for a moment, and then he starts walking off down the road again. "I expect you want to buy me a drink," he says, glancing over his shoulder at me. "So come on, let's get on with it."

I follow him through to the next street, to a little bar with broken neon and a staircase narrow enough you could break an ankle on your way down. It's not one of the boss's places, either, which is kind of a relief, because if Nicky was spending all his spare time in our joints, that'd be worrying in itself. I don't want to end up having this conversation all over again in six months' time, when some other idiot manager decides he wants to line Nicky's pockets with the boss's money. So I'm smiling as I follow Nicky down those narrow stairs, and when he looks back at me he gives me a raised eyebrow. "You look pleased with yourself," he says, with a sharp little laugh. "What, were you worried I'd turn you down?"

That catches me off-guard, and the last thing I want to say is the truth, so I just shrug and laugh. "Maybe I was worried you'd be too tired from your afternoon meeting."

"Tired?" He giggles like that's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. "I might be a lot of things when he's finished with me for the day, but trust me, _tired_ 's not one of them."

We sit down at the back of the bar, and before Nicky says another word he takes a long, slow sip of his drink, with his eyes closed and his face peaceful like he's soaking in a hot bath. I keep quiet, just watching him, not wanting to interrupt the moment, and when he finally opens his eyes again they've got the same hazy, heavy-lidded look about them as before, just like they did last time, when I had him in my arms. I don't know how he does it, but with that one glance he's already got me wanting nothing more than to grab his hair and pull him into a kiss. It's almost enough to make me forget why I'm here in the first place. Almost, but not quite.

"That warning I gave you last time," I say, bracing myself for the warmth in his eyes to die out the minute I raise the subject. "I meant it, Nicky. For your own sake, find yourself someone safer. An accountant, a banker, whatever. Someone you can milk without risking your neck."

"Oh, don't worry about me," he laughs, resting his chin on one hand. His other hand slips down under the table and rests on my thigh, stroking me lightly as he talks. "So tell me, this awful man who's going to come down and put Taylor out of business, is he good-looking? I want to know if I'm going to need to dress up extra special next month. You know, to make a good impression."

"Oh yeah," I say, laughing along with him at first. "He looks dreamy when he's pointing his .45 at you, really dreamy. Only you won't get the chance to see him. You won't even see the car. It'll just be one shot, maybe two to make sure, and they'll come out of nowhere. You'll hear the car drive away, and maybe you'll hear the sirens if you're lucky, but you'll be gone by the time the cops get there. So yeah, dress up for the occasion. When those housemates of yours come to identify you, I'm sure they'll appreciate the effort."

He just looks at me silently, with that flippant smile frozen on his face, and that stroking hand suddenly still and heavy on my thigh, and for a few moments I think I've done it. I've gotten through to him. Maybe he hates me for it, maybe I'll never see him again, but he's got the message now, and he'll do the smart thing. And then he gives me another one of those broken-glass giggles, and shakes his head like he can't believe how absurd I am. "Wow," he says, pausing to take another sip of his drink. "You should write one of those paperbacks, the kind with a smoking gun on the front and some spicy interludes thrown in between all the dramatic shootouts."

That mocking tone, it makes me see red and sets me on fire, all at once. Just like he wanted, I'll bet. He doesn't look surprised when I grab a handful of his hair and drag him into a kiss, not one bit. He just wraps his arms around my neck and kisses me right back, hot and hungry and desperate enough that I forget we're sitting in a bar full of people. I forget everything except the taste of his lips, the touch of his tongue, the heat of his body against mine. Everything he does makes me want him more. His nails brush against my neck, and I want to feel them running down my back. His legs rub against mine as he shifts in his seat, and I want to feel them wrapped around my waist. His pulse throbs under my fingers as I move my hand down to his throat, and I want to tighten my grip, I want to feel that heartbeat pulsing fast and strong underneath me as I pin him down. I want so many things, I barely know where to start. "We need to go somewhere private," I say, when he comes up for air, keeping my lips close to his ear. "Or I'm going to bend you over this table and fuck you right here."

Nicky gives me a smile like that's music to his ears, and stands up, shrugging off that coat, giving me an eyeful of the tight little suit he's got on underneath it. The grapevine was right, he's dressed up now like some big businessman's kept boy, all black velvet and gold silk, flashy and garish and irresistible. The whole thing shimmers when he moves, and I keep my eyes on him, watching the way the light gleams on his clothes and hair as he leads me across the bar. I'm watching him so intently that we get right up to the door of the toilets before I realise where he's leading me, and when it finally clicks I can't help chuckling. How many times have I hurried someone into a cubicle, too hungry for it to wait, too desperate to care who hears me? Nicky's cut from the same cloth as me, even if he's got a coating of glitter on top. I keep that in mind as I shove him inside, as I bundle him into the furthest cubicle and pin him against the wall. He just groans and arches up, pressing himself against me, and when I lock the cubicle door behind me he gives a little smirk.

"I don't care if anyone sees us," he says, sliding a hand down to my fly. And I believe him, too. He's got the same reckless streak as me, only his is twice as wide.

"You'd let me drag you out there and fuck you over the bar, wouldn't you?"

"Mm," he nods, grinding up against me. "I'd let you fuck me _anywhere_."

Then his fingers curl around my cock, and I have to press my lips against his throat to stifle a groan. I can't let him run the show like this, or he'll have me spent in two minutes flat, so I push him back hard against the wall and unfasten his fly as he strokes me, and when I take hold of his cock he gives a loud shuddering moan like he hasn't been touched all day. _That's_ more like it. He must have been at it all afternoon, and now he's squirming under me, sighing little pleas against my neck, as hot for it now as if he'd been starved for weeks. I get the impression nothing could ever really satisfy him. He's like one of those trick candles that goes out for a second when you blow on it and lights back up the minute you stop. I could fuck him all day and all night, and five minutes later he'd be clawing at me, pouting and needling me, wanting it all over again. I think about that as he's stroking me, as I'm working my hand over him, as he hangs onto my neck with his free arm and breathes those shameless moans against my ear. I think about how insatiable he is, how he could probably work his way through every guy in the organisation and still be unsatisfied. I think about all of it, and it just makes me want him more, even if I'm just a drop in the ocean. Especially if I am.

"Like that," he groans when I move my hand faster, stroking my thumb over the head of his cock on each upstroke. "Like that, don't stop, don't–"

"You want to come?" I laugh, slowing my pace just enough to rein him in. "Beg for it, then."

"Don't tease me, please…" he says, and that's almost right, but I want more of the _please_ and less of the _don't_ , so I keep my hand light and slow until he's whimpering and thrusting up desperately into my fist. "Please…" he says, breathy and low, "please, let me come, I'll do anything, just– I need– _please_ –"

I should make him beg again. I should keep him right on the edge until he's half-mad with need. I should make him suffer. But those pleas, those moans, that hot breath against my throat, I can't resist any of it. I can't resist him. He starts to come as soon as I tighten my grip around him, bucking and shivering and crying out like he's dying, and every second of it is bliss for me. Every shudder that wracks his body, every moan and gasp, every wet pulse of come that smears across my hand, every single bit of it. Then he brings my hand up to his lips and starts to lick my fingers clean, and I can't wait any longer. The sight of that red tongue lapping up his come, the heat of it trailing against my skin, it's too much.

"On your knees," I say, shoving him down hard enough he'll have bruises tomorrow, and I push my cock into his mouth before he can get a word out. Maybe I should have made him beg for this too, but I don't care now. All I want is to feel his tongue sliding along the underside of my cock, his lips stretched around the base, his throat working tight and wet around me as he lets me in deeper and deeper each time. I fuck his mouth in quick, shallow strokes, too close right from the start to bother with anything else. And he knows it, too. The look in his eyes makes that clear. It doesn't take long at all, and when I start to come, he makes a low noise deep in his throat that might be a groan or a laugh, pulling back just in time to catch the last few sprays across his face.

"Greedy little whore," I groan, as he bends his head and starts licking my cock clean.

He looks up at me, with his lips curled into that maddening smirk, and a streak of come glistening on his cheek. "Tell me something I don't know."

I drag him up into another kiss, and I can taste myself on his tongue. I can smell my scent all over him, mixed in with that heavy perfume, and it makes me want to do this all over again. It makes me want to take him back to my place and fuck him all night long, so I guess that insatiable appetite of his must be catching. "That was over far too quickly," I say, leaning back against the cubicle wall. "Next time I'm going to make you wait all night."

"Oh, the evening's not over yet." He gets to his feet and starts buttoning up again, flashing me another little smirk. "Unless you don't think you could go again..?"

"Come back to my place," I say, figuring that the drive will give me enough time to get a bit of vigour back. "Let's make a night of it."

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea," he says, with a coy little laugh. "After all, no-one knows where I am, and if I let you take me home you could do _anything_ to me…" Then he grabs my arm like he's planning on dragging me out to the car by force, so I guess that's his way of saying yes.

He stays glued to my side all the way back to my flat, and having him next to me while I'm driving isn't any less distracting this time around, not with his head resting on my shoulder and his hand resting on my lap, stroking and rubbing at me the whole way there. By the time we pull up outside, I'm ready to go again, and by the time I lead him into the living room and lock the door behind us, I'm ready to tear those glitzy clothes right off with my bare hands.

"Not bad." Nicky smirks, running his hand along the top of the sofa. "A bit on the small side, but–"

I cut him off with a hand on his throat. "I didn't bring you here for a market appraisal," I say, steering him backward until he's up against the wall. "And you're not here to admire the decor."

"I suppose not…" he says, tipping his head back so that his throat arches up against my palm.

"You've probably got a dozen guys you could call up if you want to be taken somewhere fancy." I grab a handful of his shirt, twisting that gleaming gold silk in my fist. "But that's not what you've got _me_ for, is it?"

He gives me another one of those soft little giggles. " _Have_ I got you?"

I don’t answer. I don't need to. That laugh, that smile, it's like a key turning in a lock. I just grab hold of the other side of his shirt in my free hand and tear the flimsy thing open, letting the buttons rip free. Nicky doesn't seem to care. I guess one of his wealthier friends can replace it for him. I give his trousers the same treatment, and by the time I've got him naked, he's already hard and stroking himself while I take in the view. I unfasten my jacket, but that's as far as I go. Tonight I'm not going to strip off. Tonight I'm going to stay like this, with a layer of clothes between us, only undressing enough to fuck him. Tonight I'm going to keep my distance. I figure since it works for the boss, maybe it'll work for me. Maybe if I keep Nicky at arm's length, I'll have the upper hand.

He drops to his knees this time without being told, and when I grab a fistful of his hair and grind his face against my crotch, he moans and murmurs something I can't quite catch. "Got something to say?" I yank his head back, forcing him to meet my eyes. Most boys would have a bit of embarrassment in their eyes right now, but the look Nicky gives me is pure hunger, seething hot and irresistible.

"Let me suck it," he says, stroking himself slow and firm as he begs. "I need it, I need your cock in my mouth, please, let me taste it…"

Every word is perfect, like he knows exactly how to get to me, like he's been rehearsing this script for days. He might be begging, but I'm the one trying to hold off, trying to keep control, trying to resist the urge to just fuck that pretty mouth until it's full of come. I'm the one struggling, while he looks up at me with those big, hungry eyes and keeps on stroking his own cock. But I said we'd make a night of it, and now that I've got him here I'm not going waste the opportunity, not one bit.

"Open your mouth," I tell him, and it sounds a lot more like an order than I was expecting. Maybe my approach is working. Maybe I'm going to get what I wanted after all. He does as he's told, and kneels there like a good boy with his lips parted and that wet tongue glistening at me, while I get my cock out and hold it just out of reach. It's a tempting sight, but I settle for pushing a couple of fingers into his mouth while I stroke myself. He makes a soft little sound of pleasure, closing his eyes as he sucks on my fingers, and between the sight of his lips brushing my knuckles and the feeling of his mouth sliding hot and wet around my fingers, resisting that temptation isn't getting any easier. When I pull my hand away, he gives a groan of hunger that makes it worth the effort. Then I slide my cock into his mouth and start fucking his throat, and that groan just gets louder.

"You look like such a flimsy thing, but you can't get enough, can you?" I twist his hair in my hand, pulling him up and down along the length of my shaft. "No matter how much cock you get in that hungry little mouth, you always want more, don't you?"

He moans against me, and I can feel him trying to nod his head, but with the grip I've got on his hair he's not going anywhere. I hold him in position and fuck his mouth in long, deep strokes, pushing him right up to the edge of choking each time. It doesn't faze him. He just keeps on working that hand over his cock while his throat tenses and trembles around mine, making desperate little sounds every time I thrust forward, licking and sucking at me until his lips are red and swollen, until his mouth is watering so much that my lap is soaked with his spit. When I pull back, he looks up at me with hazy, hungry eyes and circles the base of my shaft with his free hand.

"Fuck me, please, I can't wait any more," he begs, throaty and soft, darting his tongue out to lick at me between each little plea, like he's too hot for it to get a full sentence out. "Give it to me, I need it inside me, please…"

I shove him onto the sofa, and he lies back eagerly, drawing his legs up and apart, laying himself wide open for me. His eyes are full of mischief as he watches me lube up my hand, and when I slide my fingers into his ass, he gives a long moan, loud and absolutely shameless.

"Go ahead," I say, crooking my fingers as I move them inside him. "Be as loud as you like, the neighbours have heard worse."

"Have they?" He groans and spreads his legs wider, hooking a hand under each knee. "Do you bring lots of noisy boys back here?"

"Too many to count." Yeah, and plenty of tough guys who've thrown me around this place hard enough that _I_ was the one howling the walls down, but he doesn't need to know that. I slide another finger in beside the first two, twisting and scissoring them inside him. "But none half as ravenous for it as you are, you little slut."

He answers me with another moan, louder still, and his ass tenses around my fingers as he starts to squirm against my hand. I think he can do better than that, though, so I push a fourth finger into him, and now he _really_ lets go, groaning and whimpering like he can barely take it. But he can take it, he can take everything I've got to give him and then some, and I'm going to make him take every inch until he's begging to come. I'm going to make him mine, even if it's just for tonight.

"Don't keep me waiting," he groans, as he watches me slick a handful of lube over my cock. "I've already waited too long…"

"A minute's too long for you, isn't it?" I line up between his thighs, gripping his shoulder with my dry hand, pinning him down as he wriggles against me. "Hold still and let me fuck you, then."

He starts to talk back, but as I push forward the words seem to slip away from him, and he just groans, low and deep in his throat. I fuck him rough and fast from the start, and he takes it all perfectly, like he was made for it. Every inch, every thrust, every slam of my hips against his thighs, everything I give him. He laps it all up and begs for more. How does anyone ever last more than five minutes inside him? The feeling of his ass around me, that hot flesh sliding down around my cock, swallowing every inch I feed him, it's like being set alight every time. What was I thinking, promising him all night? Maybe I'd have said anything to get him back here. Anything to have him underneath me like this, squirming and moaning and stroking himself frantically like my cock's the best thing he's ever felt. Maybe I'd have done anything at all.

"Get up," I say, pulling out and stepping back. He gives a little frustrated groan and pushes himself up off the sofa, watching me as I sit down on the chair opposite him. "You want it that much, you can come over here and ride it."

"I should make you ask nicely," he says, with a little pout, but I don't have to tell him twice. He's straddling my lap in about two seconds flat, sinking down onto my cock and stroking his own.

"I don't ask nicely for anything," I laugh, grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking his head back hard. "Not to boys like you, anyway."

"Boys like me?" he moans, clinging onto me with his free arm as he rides me hard and fast, working that eager hand quicker and quicker over his cock.

It's not going to take long now. I've got no chance, not with Nicky slamming himself down on me like this, not with him sliding that tight ass up and down on my cock like he's trying to break himself. "That's right, boys like you…" I say, trying to keep the groan out of my voice. "Filthy, greedy, perfect, cock-hungry boys like you."

He cries out hoarsely as he starts to come, and he sounds as surprised as I am that he beat me to the punch. I grab his waist with both hands and hold him still, thrusting up into him deep and hard as he tenses around me. The sight of him arching and trembling, his head thrown back and his eyes closed, as he comes in desperate shuddering pulses across his stomach and chest, it's more than I can take. As soon as he's done, I shove him off my lap and onto the floor, dragging him by the hair until he's on all fours just where I want him, until that pretty ass is up in the air and that pale face is pressed to the carpet. The minute I sink back into him, I'm done for. It takes a couple more strokes, barely anything at all, and when I come it feels like he's ripping the pleasure out of me, ounce by ounce, pulse by pulse, until I'm buried to the hilt in him, leaning heavily against his back, shuddering and panting and completely spent. He couldn't get any more out of me now if he tried. And he would try, I'll bet, if I let him. Instead I pull out, and give him a rough slap on the ass.

"Go and get cleaned up," I say, pointing at the bathroom door. "I'll phone you a taxi."

"Oh, you're not going to let me stay the night?" Nicky gives me another one of those two-second pouts, and picks up his clothes. "And I thought you were such a nice man."

And the frightening thing is, if he'd asked seriously, I'd have let him.

 

* * *

 

It's been three weeks now. Three weeks of waiting outside Taylor's place every time I've got a spare evening, watching the doors until Nicky comes sauntering through them and fills up my night with loud, risky, stupid pleasure. Three weeks of fucking him in alleys and toilets, in my car and my apartment, and whenever those housemates are out for the night, on every available surface at his place. I've exhausted myself trying to keep up with him, trying to keep him satisfied, but I've done it happily, and all along I've pretended not to hear that clock ticking away in the background, counting down to the deadline.

So when he sits down on his bed one night, and tells me casually that he's got an idea that could get us a lot of money, I'm actually surprised. I didn't see it coming. I guess I had my eyes closed.

"Listen, next week is collection week, right?" he says, watching me with bright eyes as I finish getting dressed. "I've been around Taylor long enough to know the routine inside and out. I know when and how the money's handed over. I've got it all worked out. It'd be _easy_ , it'd be no trouble at all for someone like you, and _he's_ the perfect fall guy, isn't he? Think about it. You could grab the money, and we could leave town, and–"

"No." I look at him, at that pretty face and that perfect smile, and all I can see is my own stupidity staring back at me, proving what a fool I am.

"Don't you like the idea?" He furrows his brow for a moment, and then that smile turns into a smirk, and he gives me that familiar, mocking little laugh. "You're _scared_ , aren't you? You're scared of crossing your boss, scared of a clapped-out old–"

I cut him off with a hard slap across the face, harder than anything I've given him before, because that countdown clock I've been trying to ignore for weeks, he's just grabbed hold of its hands and wrenched them right around to zero.

" _Shut up_ ," I say, spitting the words out, wishing I could cram _his_ words back in. "Shut that stupid little mouth, and _keep it shut_."

He stands up, and now those hungry eyes are glaring at me like I'm nothing. Like I'm no better than Taylor. "Fine. If you won't do it, then I'll find someone else who _will_."

"No," I grab hold of his throat, but this time there's no pleasure in it. This time he doesn't purr and moan in my grip. This time he just scowls at me, and when I slam him back against the wall and slap him again, there's no desire in the yelp it wrings out of him. "No, you won't."

My pulse is racing, faster than it was an hour ago when I was fucking him, and I feel like my blood is seething in my veins, like all of that lust has curdled into poison. There's no way back now. I can't let him get away with this. Not even the threat of it.

"Do you even realise what you've done? What _I'm_ going to have to do now?" I hit him again, letting him feel all of the bitterness and fury he's forced on me, and while he's reeling from that blow I give him another, and a third, and then I fling him across the room so that he crashes into the wardrobe hard enough to shake the thing. When I look down, my hand is shaking too.

He pushes himself back up to his feet and glowers at me. "What are you–"

"I'll tell you what's going to happen." I cut him off again, shoving him back against the wall. "I'm going to go back to my boss, and I'm going to tell him exactly what you're planning."

Nicky opens his mouth to answer, but I shut it again with another hard smack, and I bring my other hand up to his throat. "You'll get that visit I warned you about, the one you found so amusing, only it won't be quick. Not now." My fingers tighten around his neck, just enough to start cutting off his air. "It'll be slow, and nasty, and messy, and by the time it’s even halfway done you'll be longing for that quick end I promised you."

Now he looks up at me, silent and shaking. Now there's no smirk on his lips. Just blood. He looks scared, genuinely scared. Maybe he finally understands. Maybe it's just for show. Either way, it's too late now, it doesn't matter, it's out of my hands. I guess it's been out of my hands from the start. I was kidding myself all along. So I let go of him and shove him back onto the bed. I don't want to touch him, not any more. I don't even want to look at him.

"It'll take me an hour to get there," I say, reaching inside my jacket for my wallet. There's more than enough cash in there, but I throw the whole bundle of notes down onto the bed anyway. I don't want to stay here any longer than I need to. "You've got two hours to get out of town. Get out and don't come back. Or stay and get what's coming to you. I don't care. But if I ever see you around here again, Nicky, I'll hand you over to the boss myself."

He doesn't answer. He just sits there silently, watching me, as I let myself out.

I drive slowly, trying to keep it together. I should have known better. I should have known I was wasting my time. I should have known to steer clear of Nicky the minute I laid eyes on him, but I didn't, so I guess I'm only slightly less stupid than he is. I need to do better next time. I need to apologise to the boss for this whole mess. And I need to get there in one piece, with my head clear. So I roll the window down, letting the night breeze wash away the scent of that cheap perfume, letting the cold air start to numb me. I keep on driving slowly, and I don't look back.


End file.
